


The Intern and the Wolf

by GentlyWithAChainsaw



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Boss/Employee Relationship, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Office Sex, Power Imbalance, Smut, Vibrators, cam shows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-01-21 14:22:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12459612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GentlyWithAChainsaw/pseuds/GentlyWithAChainsaw
Summary: Stiles' new boss has a proposition for him





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: could you maybe do assistant stiles and boss derek? where stiles is really shy and a virgin and derek’s really rough and mean and they fuck in his office?
> 
>  
> 
> This is another "was supposed to be a one-shot but then spiraled" story. I changed assistant to intern and rough and mean Derek to just kind of normal/dom Derek, but the virgin and the office-fucking is still there!

The best thing that ever happened to Stiles Stilinski is about to be the thing that kills him. That’s all he can think as he sits at his desk twenty-one floors up, staring at a double monitor full of code he stopped understanding two hours ago. 

Getting an internship here was a miracle. After he graduated from college he had been all set to accept a dinky job at a media measurement and analytics company in—all of shitty places—the _D.C. metro area._ Then, days before he signed his contract, he got a call following up on his application to the internship program at PackLink. 

PackLink is the current social media network everyone loves, successful long enough that it officially can’t just be classified as a fad anymore. Its creator, Derek Hale, is like a version of Zuckerberg people actually like—young, brilliant, and insanely attractive. And it’s headquartered only about fifty miles away from Stiles’ hometown, so he doesn’t have to completely abandon his dad. 

Being a Product Design Engineering Intern for PackLink was the dream of every person in his college program. Sure, he’s not getting paid right now, but that’s fine. Almost everyone who goes through the internship program gets a full-time offer at the end of it. All Stiles has to do is make it through the next five and a half months, and he’ll be earning eighty thousand a year, minimum. 

If he makes it through. _If_. 

Stiles sighs and scrubs at his eyes. He needs to nail this project. It’s huge for him _and_ huge for the company. Just being able to get his hands on it is an honor—like being the guy who made the parchment the Declaration of Independence was written on. 

PackLink allows people to create a multitude of online “packs,” private circles where they can communicate with friends, coworkers, or other communities. Its best feature, though, is its ability to create packs based on shared location. 

Stuck in a traffic jam with no discernible end in sight? Just create a pack to communicate with the other drivers stuck there so you can figure out how long it lasts and whether anyone knows any good detours. At a crowded concert and wondering where the bathrooms are? Send out a single message to the other concert-goers to see if they can help. Trying to escape from a natural disaster ? Same solution—create a location-based pack so everyone with the PackLink app can get an invite and share information to help people get out safely. 

Now they’re trying to expand the location-based pack feature so people can be more precise in setting a pack’s boundaries. But it’s _hard_. Stiles is one of dozens of product design engineers and they’ve all been working around the clock, trying to get this done on schedule. 

“Hey.” His project manager, Lydia, knocks on his cubicle. “Mr. Hale is on his way over for a team meeting. Try to look less like this job is killing you.” 

“Gotcha.” Stiles gives up on the screens and stretches, widening and blinking his eyes as if that’ll get rid of his dark circles. His deadlines can wait. Embarrassing himself in front of Derek Hale is worse. If Stiles fucks up at this job, they’ll show him the door. If he fucks up in front of Mr. Hale, he’s pretty sure Mr. Hale would just chuck him out the window. 

He’s only met with Mr. Hale a few times since starting, and each time Mr. Hale has looked at him like Stiles was a fruit fly or something. So inconsequential that his annoying existence would be tolerated as long as he didn’t get too close or buzz too loud. To be fair, he kind of looks at everyone like that. But he always seemed to be especially _focused_ on Stiles. 

The only time they’ve exchanged any words since Stiles started had been during his second week on the job. Stiles had been down in the cafeteria talking to one of his coworkers about the Game of Thrones finale and got a little carried away, waving his arms and probably speaking too loudly. Suddenly he’d realized that Derek Hale was surveying his employees from the cafeteria’s entrance. He was staring directly at Stiles as if he was some sort of hyperactive alien. Stiles had looked away quickly, hoping he had just imagined it, but then, as he got coffee from the cafeteria Keurig five minutes later, Mr. Hale had walked by. “You don’t need any caffeine,” he said coldly, and Stiles had dropped the cup, feeling his face turn absolutely scarlet. 

The weird thing, the _pathetic_ thing, was that Stiles had thought he had actually made a connection with the older man. When he had shown up for his internship interview months ago, he had expected to meet with a few project managers and maybe some high-level recruiters. Instead, much to his shock, he was shown directly to Derek Hale’s office. It was jarring, seeing him in person after memorizing his features on the front of _Fortune_ and _WSJ_. 

“Sit,” Mr. Hale had said in greeting that day, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. He was standing by the window, hands in his pockets, looking over Stiles with cold, critical eyes. 

Stiles scrambled to sit. He’d been so nervous the entire drive, and being shown to one of the most powerful men in the country wasn’t helping matters. “Would you like to see my resume?” he heard himself squeak. 

“I’ve seen your resume.” Mr. Hale sat down and evaluated Stiles without speaking for a moment. “You don’t like your first name?” 

Stiles blinked, then remembered that his resume had his real name at the top, with his nickname in quotes after it. “It’s hard for people to pronounce, so—” 

“You chose an uncommon nickname for yourself.” 

“It kind of got chosen for me.” 

“Does that happen often? People choosing things for you?” 

“I—no.” His mind was scrambling for something else to say and he felt himself blush deeply when nothing came. He knew he was blowing it. Mr. Hale was just so _intimidating._ He was only about five years older than Stiles, but Stiles felt the same gulf between them he had felt when he was little and the world was cleanly divided into _kids_ and _adults._

“Why are you here?” Mr. Hale’s voice was sharp and Stiles’ blush had deepened. He could almost read Mr. Hale’s mind: _Why are you wasting my time?_ He was probably ready to end this thing early and kick Stiles back to the curb, dream over before it began. 

It made him feel suddenly stronger, and he sat up straighter in his chair. “Because I have the skills necessary to be successful on your team. I know how rigorous the work is here. Over the past four years, I’ve proven to myself that I have what it takes to be a valuable part of such a high-level group, and I’d like to prove that to you as well.” 

“Every tech company works hard. Why PackLink?” 

“Because it has a mission I believe in. My dad’s a sheriff and he’s seen the number of lives that have been saved through the PackLink app. PackLink isn’t like every other tech company. Its product actually makes life easier. That’s what technology should do, and rarely does.” 

Mr. Hale evaluated him for another moment. “I like passion, and I like hard work,” he said finally. His voice wasn’t _approving_ , exactly, but some of the coldness had gone out of it. “Now tell me about your engineering classes.” 

The rest of the interview had a flow Stiles was familiar with, and when he walked out he had felt good. Derek Hale was famous for his stiffness and unforgiving nature, but Stiles had felt like Mr. Hale might have actually liked him. 

_That_ dream is dead. 

“Here he comes,” Lydia mutters now, shooing a few stragglers out of their cubicles. Mr. Hale is walking towards them, looking like he always does—like something has vaguely displeased him and he’s just waiting for more bad news to come his way. 

“Lydia. Where are we on this?” Mr. Hale sweeps his eyes over the whole team as Lydia starts to talk. Stiles stands at attention, wanting to make a good impression, but he relaxes after a few minutes when Mr. Hale just looks right past him. 

He probably doesn’t even remember Stiles’ name. Why should he? Stiles is one of hundreds here. Avoiding his attention is probably the best thing he can do if he wants a full-time offer. In a few years, once Stiles has been promoted up to, say, where Lydia is now, he can prove to Mr. Hale... 

Suddenly he snaps back to attention at the sound of his own name. Lydia and his other team members are staring directly at him. So, too, is Derek Hale—who, Stiles realizes, has been directly in Stiles’ eyeline as his mind had wandered. 

“Ah—Mr. Hale. Sir.” Had Mr. Hale realized that Stiles had spaced out staring directly at him? That’s so fucking _awkward_. He must think Stiles is a major creep, unable to get through a meeting without fantasizing about his boss. 

“Are you bored?” 

“No! No, sir. I was just thinking about my assignment. I’m listening, though.” Stiles wants to sink through the floor. He’ll go down all twenty-one stories if that gets him away from Mr. Hale’s unimpressed gaze. 

“Why are you so jittery, Stiles?” 

“What? I’m not. Seriously, I’m…this is my normal amount of jittery, sir.” 

The rest of the team murmurs assent at that. 

“Then you should learn how to calm down. Your heartrate is nearly double what it should be.” Derek smirks, as if at a private joke, before adding: “If I had to guess. No more coffee today.” 

Stiles bristles internally a little at that, but he only nods obediently. It’s hard to claim the _you’re-not-the-boss-of-me_ defense to your literal boss. “Understood, sir.” 

“Good. Lydia, talk me through approvals.” Mr. Hale turns his attention back to the team leader and Stiles slumps, torn between relief and mortification. 

The rest of the meeting passes without incident, though Mr. Hale tosses one last look over at Stiles before he leaves. Stiles tries to get back to work, but it’s difficult to focus again. 

PackLink has free coffee for its employees. A state-of-the-art Keurig with hundreds of different flavors. Stiles visits it four to five times a day. They have decaf cups, but since Stiles isn’t a fucking amateur he never uses them. 

Thinking about coffee makes his head ache. He needs a cup desperately. It’s not like Mr. Hale will know. 

He slips out of his cubicle and heads for the Keurig. He’s just selected his cup and is closing the lid when a hand suddenly closes around his wrist. 

“You don’t follow orders well,” Mr. Hale murmurs. 

_Fuck_. Stiles considers faking temporary memory loss or something, but that probably wouldn’t work. “Sorry. I need coffee to fully function. It might have replaced my entire bloodstream at this point. That’s a joke. Ha. Ha.” He winces at himself. Why does Mr. Hale turn him into a complete blithering moron? 

“This is you fully functioning?” 

Ouch. Score one for Mr. Hale. “It’s just been a long day. I am working hard, I promise. I’m pulling my weight on the team. Lydia will tell you—” 

“Hey.” Mr. Hale’s voice is suddenly gentler. “I don’t doubt that, Stiles. Everyone I’ve spoken with agrees you’re a fantastic addition. I just don’t know why you seem so on-edge.” 

“I’m not. Honestly. It’s just sometimes—” 

“When you’re around me?” 

Stiles’ brain kind of grinds to a halt at that. What is Mr. Hale asking? Is this his way of pointing out that, yeah, he _totally noticed_ Stiles’ spaced out ogling? “You’re the boss,” he squeaks. 

“I hate to think I’m intimidating my employees.” Mr. Hale almost seems to be hiding a smile for a second, but then his face clears and he’s back to business. “No more of that. I want to see you relaxed. Understand?” 

Stiles nods, and, when Mr. Hale keeps looking at him sternly, tries to show how chill he is by attempting a hang-loose sign with his fingers that will absolutely come back to haunt him on his deathbed. Mr. Hale gives a short nod and turns away. Stiles thinks _maybe_ there was a smile at the corner of his mouth, but it might also have been a look of sheer bafflement as to how Stiles even made it through the door here. 

Stiles waits by the coffee table, wondering if he should attempt to pour himself another cup. He sneaks a look at Mr. Hale’s retreating figure to make sure he isn’t watching, then gets distracted by how Mr. Hale looks as he walks away. God, that is a _butt_. His clothes are so impeccably tailored. He must pay a guy to make sure his ass is shown off to perfection. Or maybe someone does it for free. It must be an honor for any tailor to work on that ass. Derek’s ass is probably famous in the tailor world. It’s like their Mona Lisa. These are the just-barely-sane thoughts rattling through Stiles’ brain when Derek turns around and catches him staring again. He raises an eyebrow disapprovingly, shaking his head a little before turning away again. 

_Damn it_. Stiles scurries back to his desk, thinking that it’ll be a miracle if he makes it out of this job alive. 

X 

When Stiles gets home, a part of him wants to just take a hot shower and go to bed early. But it’s Tuesday. Stiles has a longstanding appointment on Tuesdays. 

His internship is a miracle, but that miracle doesn’t come with a paycheck. Stiles has loans to pay off. His dad offered to help out, and Stiles gladly accepts a little bit from him a month, but he doesn’t need his father to go bankrupt to pay for his dream job. 

He used his brain to get the internship at PackLink. To make a living, he uses…his other assets. All he needs for this is a webcam, some sex toys, and the ability to handle a bunch of strangers urging him to touch himself. He boots up his laptop and changes out of his work clothes, until he’s wearing nothing but a short-sleeved white t-shirt and his briefs. He used to try and hide his face and keep from talking during his shows, but he’s relaxed over time. The chances of someone he knows stumbling on him here are practically nonexistent. 

After establishing a routine on here he’s developed a fairly consistent audience, ready and waiting for him on Tuesday night. They start to appear on the chat as he warms himself up, slowly stroking himself through his boxers and lubing up a few toys. There’s a little honeypot icon in the corner of the screen and he smiles to himself as he hears the jingling sound of a few viewers “tipping” him. 

“Hey, guys,” he says, looking away from the camera. For some reason he’s always so _confident_ during a show. Derek Hale should see him now. “I’ve been thinking about this all day. I was thinking…maybe I should try using two toys at the same time today. Would you like seeing that? It would be a pretty big stretch, but I’d be willing to try it for you.” 

Comments are popping up on the chat screen. He recognizes a lot of the user names. There’s the guy who always calls Stiles “my darling.” There’s the woman who calls herself “Big Mama.” There’s the guy who likes to see Stiles’ feet. Stiles flashes his toes at the camera just for that guy and is rewarded with the clinking of a few more virtual coins. 

He has two ultra-thin vibrators he’s selected just for this purpose. He tugs down his briefs and plays with his hole a little, glancing at the screen every so often to see what people are saying. 

_TYGH.BN6: spread ur legs more_

_GiGi$$Heat: wanna cum on ur face_

_davis88: $20 for more feet_

_sexxxysatan: ur a slut._

Stiles rolls his eyes as he turns back to the task at hand. Such lovely people. 

He spends a long time working himself open, until his viewers get the hint and start tossing more money into the pot. Then he picks up the first of two vibrators and starts to slide it in and out. It’s so small that it doesn’t do much, but he plays it up, moaning and rocking on it. “It’s really tight already, guys,” he pants. “I don’t know if I can fit another.” 

_k1nky299: do it_

_Alloutallin: keep going baby keep going_

_davis88: $25 for more feet_

_kisses &print: show us ur hole again._

He flashes his ass towards the camera before carefully wedging in the second toy. It’s harder than it was during his little practice sessions and he only leaves it there for a moment, putting on a good show for the camera, before carefully pulling it out. 

“Okay, guys. I need a break.” He sits back, pleased to see he’s just hit over $75. There’s a new stream of comments waiting: 

_bnzizz77: thats amazing_

_ohmydarling: do it again_

_kisses &print: god id love to fuck that tight ass._

He snorts at the last one. Sorry, kisses&print. I’m a virgin, remember?” That’s even in his username—it’s a huge draw for viewers. “Okay, guys. What do you want to see next? A bigger dildo? Some cock play? I can do this for hours, guys.” He hears another jingle and looks over at the screen to see how much he made. 

_D.H.Alpha has donated $1000._

Stiles stares open-mouthed at the screen. He thinks he must have read that wrong, or one of his viewers just made a terribly costly typo. But it stays there, staring at him challengingly. $1000. He’s never made half that much in a single session. A guy once gave him two hundred to yell “Oh, Michael,” as he came, but that was an anomaly. He’s never even seen a user named D.H.Alpha here before. 

“Uh.” He isn’t sure what he should even do here. “Th-thank you, D.H.Alpha.” 

_D.H.Alpha: You’re welcome._

“Is there something you want to see?” He wouldn’t normally ask, but that much money makes him _uncomfortable_. He’s just a guy with a webcam looking to make a few bucks. He isn't looking for a sugar daddy. 

_D.H.Alpha: Yes, but not like this. I want a private show. Open a room that’s just for the two of us. I’ll give you another thousand as an entrance fee._

Stiles’ jaw drops even further. This is absolutely insane. “Are you serious?” 

_y7e3tt4: that’s not fair we were here first_

_bnzizz77: if you do it I’m never coming back here_

_bnzizz77: who even is this guy_

_D.H.Alpha: They’re wasting your time. I’ll make it worth your while. Create a private room._

Stiles bites his lips, then looks into the camera apologetically. “Okay, guys. You saw enough for today, right? I’ll be back next week.” 

_bobbyboop: fuck u_

_davis88: $30 for feet before u go_

_Alloutallin: asshole_

Hoping he hasn't just destroyed his entire enterprise, he creates an invitation-only room, adding D.H.Alpha as the only member, then sits back as he waits for D.H.Alpha to enter. He arrives quickly, immediately depositing the promised thousand into the jar. 

“Okay,” Stiles says, feeling weirdly shy now that it’s just the two of them. “What would you like to see?” 

There’s a pause before the next message show up. 

_D.H.Alpha: For right now, Stiles, I’d just like to talk._

Stiles stares at the words in horror. It’s happened. Someone he knows has found him here. He’s dreaded this ever since he started doing it, but he’d tried to convince himself that the internet was such a big place. He was safe here in this seedy little corner. 

But now he’s screwed. 

“Who are you?” he asks, trying to keep his voice steady. D.H.Alpha doesn’t reply for a few moments, and Stiles feels himself start to babble as fear expands like a bubble in his chest. “Look, please don’t tell anyone about this. It’s just to help me pay my bills. I don’t do it that often. I—” 

_D.H.Alpha: We’re clearly going to have to review our internship policy if not paying you leads you down such a desperate path._

“What?” Stiles blinks at the words as if they might rearrange themselves. “Who is this?” 

_D.H.Alpha: You know who it is. You’ve been thinking about me all day. I saw the way you were staring at me during our team meeting. Is that why you decided to do a show today? You wanted me in your head for it?_

Something like nausea swirls in Stiles’ stomach. Maybe it’s fear, or a strange sort of excitement. He tries to ignore it. This can’t possibly be real, so there’s no point in getting worked up. “S-scott?” His voice sounds like its begging. “Jackson? Is this a joke?” 

_D.H.Alpha: You’re wasting my time, Stiles, and my time is worth three thousand dollars a minute. Stop gaping at the screen and let’s talk._

“I...I know this isn’t…who you’re pretending this is. There’ s no way—” 

_D.H.Alpha has attached an image._

Stiles shakily clicks. It takes a moment for the image to load, but then he’s staring at a picture of Derek Hale’s face. He’s staring inscrutably into the camera, apparently in a dark room. In the window behind him Stiles can see the reflection of the webcam video. 

_D.H.Alpha: Would you like another? Me holding up a newspaper with today’s date on it?_

Stiles shakes his head. His own reflection in the window has convinced him. This is really Derek Hale. “How did you find me?” he whispers. 

_D.H.Alpha: You used the same email to set up this account that you use for your PackLink account._

Stiles’ brows knit together. He swears he can almost hear Mr. Hale’s exasperated sigh as the next message comes through. _I asked my PI to look into your online history. I wanted to see how trustworthy you were._

“Why?” 

This time the pause before the next message seems to last for an infinity. Stiles is just about to speak again, wondering if Mr. Hale is playing some kind of power game with him, when he finally responds. 

_D.H.Alpha: Was it true? That you’re a virgin?_

Heat creeps up his neck and chest. He knows his boss can’t ask that kind of question, but right now, small and alone in front of his computer, he can only whisper: “Yes.” 

_D.H.Alpha: Would you like me to take care of that for you?_

Stiles stares at the webcam, as dark and cold as Derek Hale’s gaze. He almost laughs again, asks if this is a joke, but he’s aware that Derek Hale’s patience is famously limited. “H-how? When?” 

_D.H.Alpha: Stay late at work tomorrow. I’ll take you into my office._

Those final six words hold so much power Stiles feels nearly bowled over by them. He thinks of Mr. Hale’s office door. It’s usually closed. Stiles has taken to scuttling past it quickly in the hopes Mr. Hale won’t walk out and see him. “Wh-what’s the catch?” He hadn’t necessarily meant to say it, but it’s all he can think right now. 

_D.H.Alpha: Why do you think there’s a catch?_

“Because…you wouldn’t just be doing this for—for sex. I mean, you could get in trouble. This is… _inappropriate._ ” 

_D.H.Alpha: What’s inappropriate is the way you look when you come into work. Your hair rumpled, eyes still sleepy, all smiles to everyone as if you’re just so damn happy to work for me. You yawn and stretch up your arms so your shirt rides up, giving everyone a view of your pretty bare skin. You act like the innocent little intern just bumbling your way through the big boy tech world. And then you come home and touch yourself for strangers to watch. You intrigue me. I always want things that intrigue me, and I always get them. If you aren’t interested, say so. We’ll never discuss this again and you’re welcome to sell this story to Buzzfeed or wherever people read gossip today. But answer me now, because I lose patience quickly._

The message takes a long time to type, and Stiles takes even longer to respond. “I…I do want…to meet you in your office.” He pauses, then swallows and adds weakly: “Mr. Hale. Sir.” 

_D.H.Alpha: Good. Tomorrow, be sure to clean yourself thoroughly before you come to work. Hopefully I don’t need to give you a step-by-step guide on that. There’s no need to bring anything. Our meeting is off if I find you’ve told anyone. No cologne. Wear a black shirt. I like how you look in black._

“Okay,” Stiles whispers. 

_D.H.Alpha: And this goes without saying, but no more cam shows. I won’t be sharing you with those kinds of people. Please consider the $2000 a bonus paid to you for your fine work at the company. Also, I liked how you sounded when you called me sir. Please continue to do so in your responses._

“Yes, sir,” Stiles says automatically. Heat creeps up his cheeks. 

The cursor blinks, and two more words appear. _Good boy._

Stiles blushes so fiercely he has to look away from the camera until he has himself back under control. He can almost hear Mr. Hale’s voice saying those words, purring them in quiet approval. Maybe he’ll say them again, tomorrow, when Stiles is in his office. The idea is intoxicating. 

_D.H.Alpha: Go to bed now. I want you well rested for tomorrow. Don’t jerk off, not even to thoughts of me. I’d rather you enjoy the real thing before you get too attached to a fantasy._

“I won’t.” Stiles pauses before he switches off the camera, waiting to see if D.H.Alpha is suddenly going to reveal himself as Jackson or somebody playing a brilliantly orchestrated prank. But there’s nothing except the cursor blinking at him expectantly, as if Derek is wondering why he isn’t moving. “Good night, sir.” 

_D.H.Alpha: Good night, Stiles._

_D.H.Alpha has logged off._

Stiles switches off the camera. For a moment he just stares at his own reflection in the now-dark laptop, imagining Derek Hale looking at the same thing. 

Did that really just happen? 

He changes for bed, taking a moment to stare at his body in the mirror. He runs his hands over his chest and thighs, trying to imagine himself as something precious enough for Derek Hale to covet. The idea that it isn’t his own hands, but Derek’s, causes him to flush all over, turning him on more than playing with toys in front of the video camera ever had. 

He can’t _wait_ until tomorrow. 

Once he’s in bed he almost masturbates to the thought of Derek, but he remembers Derek’s orders and keeps his hands at his side. It’s difficult, but as he falls asleep, he can almost imagine Derek praising him: 

_Good boy, Stiles_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this! I'm going to try to get it on a weekly schedule now that my other stories are wrapping up. Thanks for the great response on Chapter One!

When Stiles wakes up the next morning, it takes him a couple minutes to remember what had happened. He hadn’t thought to save or screenshot their conversation and it all feels like a weird, vibrant dream. 

He ends up going to check his bank balance to convince himself it’s real. Mr. Hale’s “donation” leaves him set for rent for the next three months. 

In the cold hard light of day, doubt starts to creep in as he stares at those numbers. What the hell is he doing? This is his _boss_. There’s no way this can possibly end well for him. 

But…he shivers as he remembers what Derek had messaged him. He wants to hear those words in Mr. Hale’s low voice. He wants them to be accompanied by a touch to his cheek…his shoulder…his thigh… 

He wears a black shirt, like Mr. Hale requested. Not one of his polyester polo shirts. He has a feeling Mr. Hale would be less than pleased with that. Instead he digs out a shirt he’d bought when he went to Italy for spring break senior year. It’s a little loose, almost flowing, with a wide collar. It shows off more skin than he normally would, but he likes the idea of showing his neck and collarbone. If Derek kisses him there, if he gets _rough_ , this shirt will show off any marks he leaves behind. 

He’s jittery when he reaches the office. He’d skipped his morning coffee, feeling as though Mr. Hale would somehow _know_ , but he’s as jumpy as if he’d had an extra cup. Mr. Hale’s door is closed when he heads to his desk. Stiles tries to remember it from his interview. There had been a couch. Dark leather, sleek yet professional. But it’s the desk his mind goes to. It had been huge. Big enough to bend someone over. He has to close his eyes at the thought. 

“Hey, you’re early.” Lydia looks pleased with him when she sees him at his desk. “Do you think you can have everything to me by EOD today?” 

“I’m on track for noon, actually. I just need to do a bunch of double-checking my code.” 

“Killing it,” she says approvingly. “Hopefully everyone else on the team is about where you are and we can send it all to beta. If we work hard we might be getting out of here early tonight.” 

“Oh,” Stiles says unenthusiastically. “Cool.” 

She leaves and he plugs in his SmartCard to get started. As his system boots up, his eyes go to the PackLink icon at the bottom of the screen. The entire PackLink facility has a pack for employees to communicate with each other. There are smaller packs within that larger pack, including Stiles’ team. Derek Hale is in each pack. He could private message Stiles right now on the PackLink secure server. 

He imagines a message from Mr. Hale popping up, just like that. Asking if Stiles is working hard, if he’s ready for tonight, if he’s going to be a good boy. The idea of that happening where any one of his coworkers walking by could see should terrify him, but it doesn’t. It makes him feel… _excited_. 

Being a virgin was just kind of something that happened to him, and then _kept_ happening. He’s had hookups that went pretty far, but eventually being a virgin was just so embarrassing that it got in his way. He didn’t want anyone to know. That’s part of why he likes doing his cam shows. On there being a virgin isn’t something to be embarrassed about—it’s what they like best about him. 

What had Mr. Hale thought, when he saw that in Stiles’ screen name? Had that been the moment he decided he wanted to take Stiles into his office? 

He tries to focus on his work. Mr. Hale doesn’t message him, or find some pretense to walk by and see him. The office feels just like it always does—quiet, with a little hum of energy that he has to tune out so he can focus on his work. As the morning wears on he feels his excitement starting to seep out of him, like the air from a balloon. 

This is stupid. He’s being an idiot. If Mr. Hale was even serious—God, if that was _even_ Mr. Hale—then this is just going to lead to heartbreak or the end of this job. 

At the end of the day, he’ll just go home. Yeah. That’s the best thing to do here. 

“Hey.” His coworker Isaac raps on the wall of his cubicle. “My eyes are about to fall out. You want to walk to the Keurig with me?” 

“Sure.” Stiles locks his computer and heads over to the Keurig area with Isaac. They talk about the project, which helps get Stiles’ mind off of Mr. Hale a little, though he still can’t help but look in the direction of Mr. Hale’s office as the pass the hallway. 

“You want hazelnut?” Isaac asks as he reaches for the K-cups. 

“Uh…no thanks.” The jittery feeling from before is gone, but he still doesn’t want any coffee. “Just grab me one of the teas. Any flavor.” 

Isaac gives him a gravely concerned look, like he’s just asked for a cup full of bleach. “Because of what Mr. Hale said yesterday?” 

Hearing the name, Stiles’ brain kind of short-circuits, and all he can come up with in response is an obviously unconvincing, “Who?” 

Isaac snorts as he grabs a chamomile K-cup. “Okay, weirdo. Five bucks says you’ll be asleep at your desk in an hour.” 

As the machine brews, Stiles looks over in the direction of Mr. Hale’s office again. He expects the door to still be closed, but it isn’t. It’s wide open, and Derek Hale is standing outside of it. He’s wearing a suit. He always wears a suit, not like most of the young tech guys in this town who want to look cool by wearing jeans and a t-shirt to work every day. Stiles isn’t complaining. At this moment, he can’t imagine why any man would want to wear anything other than a suit. 

A few people are filing out, obviously having just finished a meeting, but Mr. Hale isn’t looking at them. He’s looking at Stiles. His gaze travels over his face and down to his shirt, lingering on the exposed skin of his collarbone. His lips curve upwards. He looks up to meet Stiles’ gaze and nods, very slightly. His lips move, and Stiles swears he can almost hear the silent words he’s mouthing. 

_Good boy._

Then he disappears into his office again and closes the door. Stiles takes a deep, slightly ragged breath, automatically accepting the cup of tea when Isaac hands it to him. Immediately it’s like caffeine is pumping through his body again. No, not caffeine. Fuck caffeine. This is like being filled with all the energy powering the sun. 

“I’ll take that bet,” he says to Isaac. He won’t be falling asleep at his desk any time soon. With the way he feels right now, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to sleep again. 

X 

“Okay, Team Omega.” Lydia beams at the sea of nerds in front of her. There are huge circles under her eyes, a sign of what a strain this project has been, but her smile is bright. “This is officially out of our hands. Awesome work. Beta will review and revert by the end of the week. Tomorrow you’ll get some new short-term projects but for now, go home and get some sleep.” 

There are a few weak cheers as the team members start packing up. Stiles dawdles, scrolling through his email and reorganizing his U: drive folders. His team is always here later than anyone, so the office is mostly empty already. Lydia is the last to go, giving Stiles another approving nod as she leaves. 

Once everyone is gone he just sits there at his desk. He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do now. Should he go knock on Mr. Hale’s door, or send him a message, or just wait? 

Then he hears footsteps coming towards his section. They’re loud in the silent office, steady and purposeful. The footsteps of someone who knows he owns the place. Stiles feels his spine straighten automatically. He looks up just as Derek Hale comes stops in front of his cubicle. 

“Hello, Stiles.” 

“Hello, sir.” He remembers the honorific just in time, and is rewarded by that same slight smile he saw earlier. 

“Were you waiting for me?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Then let’s go.” 

He turns and begins to walk away. Stiles hurries after him, clutching his messenger bag. He’d packed condoms in there this morning, just in case. Mr. Hale didn’t have any hidden away in his office. 

“After you,” Mr. Hale murmurs as he pushes the office door open. Stiles steps through and hears the door close softly behind him. His stomach flutters with nerves and excitement. 

“Sit.” 

“A-at the desk?” 

“Yes.” There’s a slight pause, and then Mr. Hale puts his hand on Stiles’ shoulder, so that his thumb grazes the skin left bare by his shirt. It's slight, but it feels almost like a little gift, like Mr. Hale knows how badly Stiles wants to be touched by him. “We need to talk for a moment.” 

Stiles sinks into the chair in front of Mr. Hale’s desk, the same one he’d sat in during his interview. Mr. Hale sits in his own chair across from him and surveys Stiles for a moment. 

“I took you by surprise last night.” 

_“Yeah,”_ Stiles sort of huffs out, nearly choking on the word as he remembers how he had felt when he realized who he was talking to. Mr. Hale hides a smile again. 

“I realize that may have colored your response to me. So I want to know, now, while you’re in front of me.” Mr. Hale leans forward. “Do you want this? You can say no and walk out. I’ll know if you’re telling the truth, so don’t lie and tell me what you think I want to hear. I want to hear it in a full sentence, please, so there’s no doubt.” 

Stiles takes a deep breath. He looks at Mr. Hale, the set mouth and deep eyes and erect posture. He looks at his hands, and the way his suit hugs what Stiles wants to see and hides what he can only imagine. 

“Yes, I want this.” He pauses, very deliberately this time. “Sir.” 

Mr. Hale smiles again, a much wider smile this time. He looks right into Stiles’ eyes as he does it and it feels like they’re sharing a secret. “Then you’ll get it.” 

He stands, his expression shifting into something calculating and predatory and promising, and walks behind Stiles’ chair. “Up,” he murmurs, and Stiles rises automatically. He can feel his every heartbeat in a way he never has before, as if Mr. Hale’s scrutiny of his body has somehow sharpened his own sense of it. “As much as I appreciate seeing that you followed orders today…” Mr. Hale tugs the neck of his shirt, so it falls over his shoulder. “I think it’s time to get you undressed.” 

His hands move down to the button of Stiles’ pants, gently moving Stiles away from the chair at the same time. Stiles is still facing the window. The blinds aren’t closed, and he feels a thrill at knowing that anyone could look in and see this. 

Though he supposes that’s not really true. They’re too high up for that. He wonders how many times Mr. Hale stands in front of this window, surveying everything beneath him. 

“Has a man ever undressed you before?” Mr. Hale murmurs as he slowly pushes the pants down. Stiles gasps as his hand slips between his thighs, grazing the skin there ever so slightly. 

“No. No, sir.” 

“Have you ever undressed for a man?” 

Stiles blushes. “Y-yes.” 

“Really?” Mr. Hale pulls his shirt over his head. His fingernails graze at the flesh of Stiles’ belly as it goes. It takes Stiles by surprise, making him gasp and arch his back. In a flash Mr. Hale has an arm around his waist, pulling him in taut so that his ass is pressed against the crotch of Mr. Hale’s suit. Mr. Hale presses his cheek against the top of Stiles’ head, and just… _breathes_ , inhaling deeply as if he’s devouring Stiles’ very essence. “Tell me,” he whispers into Stiles’ ear. “Tell me about the first boy who ever touched you.” 

Stiles can barely think straight. He’s so close to Mr. Hale, to _Derek_ , and yet he wants to get closer, so close there’s not a single barrier between them. “Tenth grade,” he chokes. “G-guy on the lacrosse team. From behind.” It had been at a club, both of them tipsy and unsure. “We d-danced together.” 

“Where was the first place he touched you?” 

“My…my stomach. Right at the bottom…at my waist.” 

Derek’s hand lands steadily on Stiles’ stomach. His thumb brushes at the top of his briefs, then teasingly dip inside. “Like this?” 

Jesus God, not at _all_ like that. That boy’s touch hand been clumsy, landing awkwardly between desperate and shy. This is the touch of a _man_ , who knows with certainty that each touch is perfectly calibrated to bring pleasure. It’s as if as soon as Stiles said yes his body became a new world for Derek to explore, each spot ready to be claimed for his own. 

“Who was the next boy to touch you?” 

“College, freshman year. Hand job.” 

Derek eases his briefs down, exposing his cock. He strokes one finger down it gently and Stiles shakes, straining against Derek, desperate for more. “Did you like it? Be honest.” 

“Y-yeah.” 

“Answer me properly, please.” 

“Yes, sir!” Stiles needs to take a gulp of air. Now that Derek has touched him _there_ he wants more, _so_ much more. 

“Was it fast?” 

“Oh, yeah. Yes. Sir.” 

Derek snorts. He strokes it again, with two fingers this time, and then with three. Stiles moans, feeling the mindless waves of pleasure that always come when he’s about to. “Ah-ah,” Derek says reprovingly, taking his hands away. “Not yet. You won’t get fast tonight, but you will get _better_. Tell me about the next boy.” 

“I…I gave a guy a blowjob later that year.” 

“Did he touch you?” 

“Just my head. He…he grabbed my hair.” 

Derek’s hand fists in his hair, pulling his head back gently. “Did it hurt? Was he too rough?” 

Stiles winces at the memory. “Yes, sir.” 

“Poor baby.” Derek sounds amused. He tightens his grip slightly, and then scratches lightly at Stiles’ scalp. There’s a little bit of pain, but just enough to feel good. “I never make it hurt,” he breathes into Stiles’ ear. “Unless you ask for it. Now tell me about the next one.” 

“Ah…a guy fingered me. Last year.” Stiles had almost gone all the way with him, but then the guy wanted to know his whole sexual history and he’d been too embarrassed to tell him the truth. He’s incredibly grateful now that it had played out that way. 

“How many fingers did he get in?” 

“I don’t…I think two? Sir?” 

“We can do better than that.” Derek lifts him, taking him by surprise again, and practically drags him over to the desk. “I’m going to get undressed now,” he says. “Untie my tie, please.” 

Stiles does. His fingers shake, but he gets it done, letting the scrap of fabric drop to the floor. 

“Unbutton my pants.” 

Again, he does. Derek is wearing black boxer briefs and Stiles can see the very top of his cock straining against the fabric. Derek shrugs out of his suit jacket and removes his shirt in one fluid movement before kicking off his pants, using his foot to slide them away as if they’re something cheap. His eyes meet Stiles’ and once again Stiles is captivated by their gaze. “Now take off my boxers,” he says. 

Stiles’ hands move almost dreamily. He pulls the boxers off, needing to drop to his knees when Derek makes no move to shimmy them down his lower legs himself. It puts him at eye level with Derek’s cock and he swallows, breath coming ragged as he finally gets the boxers over Derek’s feet. 

“Would you like to kiss me, Stiles?” 

Stiles looks up. Mr. Hale’s gaze is serious, eyebrow raised as he waits for Stiles’ response. Stiles looks back at his cock and swallows again. He had been terrified at the prospect of putting his mouth on another man’s dick four years ago, but now all he feels is longing. 

“Yes.” 

“Then ask me for permission.” 

“May…may I kiss you, sir?” Stiles doesn’t need any prompting to remember the “sir” this time. 

“Yes, you may.” 

Without waiting a second Stiles kisses Derek, letting his lips linger on the warm skin. He lets his tongue dart out, tasting the saltiness. He imagines Derek shoving deep into his throat, dragging this soft warmth all over his tongue, pushing deeper and deeper inside of him… 

Derek grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him up. His eyes aren’t serious anymore; they’re hazy with lust, locking onto Stiles’ with such intensity it almost bowls him over. “Turn,” Derek says, the word practically a growl. Stiles does, biting his lips as he feels his ass come into contact with Derek’s naked groin. 

Derek opens a drawer of the desk and pulls out a bottle of lube. After he coats his fingers— _all_ of them, Stiles notes with something between concern and excitement— he presses the tip of his index finger to Stiles’ hole. He breathes in deeply again and nuzzles a bit against Stiles’ neck. It feels almost affectionate, a gesture of shared excitement, and Stiles just _melts_ into him. Derek pushes his first finger inside. 

It feels so good. Better than any toy, any touch, any fantasy Stiles has ever had. He moans again, bucking back on Derek’s finger, bending at the waist so it’s easier for Derek to slip his second finger inside. 

“There’s two,” Derek says. “Here’s three.” He adds the third, spreading Stiles wide. Lube drips messily down his ass and thighs, but he doesn’t care. Derek fingers him for several long moments, pushing against his walls until he’s satisfied with the stretch. 

“Is that everything? Every boy who’s ever touched you?” 

“Yes, sir.” Stiles is still pressing against Derek, longing for more—for the main event. He can still feel Derek’s cock and he wants it inside of him. 

“I think you’re forgetting something, Stiles.” 

Stiles blinks at him confusedly. He’s told him everything, hasn’t he? How could Derek possibly know the intimate details of his sexual history better than even _he_ does? 

Derek smiles a little, as if he can read Stiles’ mind. “Your first kiss, Stiles. I want that, too.” 

“Oh.” Stiles closes his eyes to remember. It was this girl back in middle school. Under mistletoe.” 

“Really?” Derek lowers his lips until they’re a hairsbreadth from Stiles’. “Did she use her tongue?” 

Stiles almost lies. He desperately wants Derek to use his tongue, to press it into Stiles’ mouth with the same casual arrogance he’d showed in claiming the rest of Stiles. But something about Derek Hale demands the truth, so Stiles whispers, “No.” 

Derek’s lips are so close Stiles can feel when they curve up. “Her loss,” he whispers. He kisses Stiles, sweetly at first and then more firmly. His tongue pries open Stiles’ lips and explore inside his mouth. Stiles loses himself in the kiss, feeling his back arch as it continues. When Derek finally pulls away Stiles chases after him, wanting more. 

“Now _that’s_ everything,” Derek says, sounding satisfied. He turns Stiles again and presses close to him, until Stiles can feel his cock lined up against Stiles’ hole. “I was the second to have all of that…but the first to have this. Isn’t that right?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Do you want me to do it now, Stiles?” 

“Yes, sir. Yes, sir, please!” 

“Good boy,” Derek whispers, and drives into him. Stiles’s hips snap forward and would have slammed against the desk if Derek hadn’t put his arm over them, anticipating it and absorbing the blow. He holds Stiles snugly as he thrusts deeper into him. 

“Bend. Over.” He growls after a moment, sounding as though it’s hard to get the words out. Stiles does blindly, placing his palms on the desk, letting Derek direct him until he’s placed to Derek’s satisfaction. The angle allows Derek to go deeper, until Stiles can’t control the sounds coming out of his mouth. He’s going to come, just like this, his cock spurting just from the feel of Derek inside him. 

“Don’t you dare,” Derek snarls, realizing that Stiles is right on the edge. He increases the pace and Stiles can hear the lewd slap of flesh as his balls swing against Stiles’ ass. He locks an arm around Stiles’ chest, pulling him up, and comes with a loud exhale that sounds almost like a howl right up against Stiles’ ear. 

“Now, sir,” Stiles begs, clutching at Derek arm, twisting with his need for release. “Please, sir.” 

Derek reaches down to stroke him again. “Now,” he agrees, and Stiles lets go. 

X 

After that they somehow find their way over to the couch. Derek lets him curl up there, against Derek’s chest, shaking with the aftershocks of his orgasm. 

When Stiles comes back to himself Derek is stroking his hair. His expression is sated now, almost serene, and his touches are gentle. 

“I have to change my user name now,” Stiles whispers, and snorts out a laugh. He feels a little woozy, as if his brain has decided it might as well take the rest of the night off. 

Derek frowns at him. “Stiles, if you even try to get back on the webcam for those _people_ , I’ll keep you locked up in here for a week.” 

The threat makes him feel all tingly at first, as if his body is trying to decide if it’s ready to go another round, and then the words sink in. “You mean…you want to do this again? With me?” 

Derek looks at him steadily. “Yes,” he says after a moment. “If you’d be agreeable, I’d like to make this a regular arrangement.” 

Joy floods Stiles. It’s so intense it keeps him from answering for a few seconds, and that’s good, because he realizes there’s something nagging at him that must be answered before he responds. “D-do you do this with other people? Other guys in the office?” 

It wouldn’t be a deal breaker if he did—at least, Stiles doesn’t think it would be—but he has to know before he commits to anything. 

Derek takes another long moment before he answers. “No,” he says. 

“Have you…before?” 

“No. You’re the only employee I’ve ever done this with.” 

That’s a surprise. Stiles can’t help but wonder _why_. If Derek has been careful not to get involved with his employees before—what’s so special about Stiles? He wants to know, but Derek looks a little guarded, as if Stiles has stumbled onto a question Derek isn’t ready to answer. He figures it’s best to back away for now. 

“Then…I’d definitely like to continue.” Stiles smiles, feeling the joy creeping back in. “Sir.” 

Derek snorts at that, and the guarded expression disappears. “You’re welcome to call me Derek. I only want you to all me Sir when it’s the right mood. I think you can determine when that is, can’t you?” 

Stiles remembers the way Derek’s expression had changed when he stood up from his desk. Oh, yeah. He can definitely tell. “Yes, I can.” 

“Good boy.” Derek smiles almost indulgently when Stiles shivers a little at the endearment. “You wear everything on your face,” he murmurs. You should see the way your eyes look, when you want me. It’s what drove me so crazy in the meeting yesterday. I don’t know how I’m going to get through the day knowing you’re just outside, ready for the taking.” 

“Take me,” Stiles says, so eagerly he’s almost embarrassed for himself. “Whenever you want, sir. Derek. Sir.” 

“You’d like that? Playing during the workday?” 

Kissing Derek when he’s clad in his thousand-dollar suits? Having Derek hold a hand over his mouth as he fucks him so no one will hear the sounds Stiles makes? God, yeah, he wants that. “I would. I’d like that very much.” 

“It won’t distract you from your work? I’d hate to see the company collapse because you aren’t paying attention to your code.” 

“It won’t. I promise.” 

“Hmm.” Derek’s hand slips down to his waist and strokes him. “But how will we manage that? I can’t just come drag you away whenever I want you. People will get suspicious.” 

“You…you could message me on the PackLink server. You’re the only one who can see those, right?” 

“Yes…but what if the message pops up while someone’s there? It would be a scandal. Can’t have that.” Derek frowns as though he’s lost in thought, though somehow Stiles thinks it’s just for show. “I have an idea. Wait here.” 

He gently moves Stiles away from his chest and walks over to the desk, while Stiles admires the perfect curves of his naked body all over again. He opens the same drawer he’d grabbed the lube from and takes out a small package. “Here,” he says triumphantly. “Perfect.” 

Stiles stares at it warily as Derek walks back over. “You…you just _had_ that? Waiting in your desk?” 

“Maybe I bought it for you last night,” Derek says silkily. “Maybe I anticipated we’d be…compatible. Do you want to ask questions, or do you want to accept your gift?” 

It’s a small bullet vibrator, barely even the width of Stiles’ thumb. The packaging promises that it’s strong enough to get the job done, with multiple speeds which can be controlled by app. 

“You should wear this for me,” Derek tells him. “Every day. When I want you, I can use my smartphone to…give you a buzz.” He smirks, looking pleased with himself. “What do you think?” 

Stiles imagines that thing going off in his ass, in the middle of the workday, with people all around. He imagines jumping from his seat and rushing off to Derek’s office before anyone can notice his blown pupils and the damp spot at the front of his pants. From the expression on Derek’s face Stiles is sure he’s imagining the same thing. 

“I’ll wear it,” Stiles promises, reaching out to accept it almost reverently. “And I’ll come whenever you call. Sir.” 

Derek laughs—a warm, affectionate sound Stiles can’t believe is really coming from _the_ Derek Hale. “Don’t start that again, Stiles. Get dressed and go home before the janitors catch you looking like this.” He extends his hand and Stiles accepts it reluctantly, rising off the couch. 

“Before I go…” Stiles chews his lips. “Can I have another kiss, sir?” The words sound shy, but in saying them Stiles has never felt so bold. Here he is, the meek little intern, asking for a kiss from the tech god. He would worry he was dreaming if he didn’t feel so deliciously, vibrantly awake. 

“Since you asked so nicely,” Derek murmurs, and claims his mouth again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this. If it helps, this has a plot now!

The one thing that Stiles, in all his virgin glory, hadn’t expected after his little date with Derek was how delightfully sore he would feel the next day. Every part of him feels deliciously _used_. 

He rolls over and grabs his phone. He sees an update on his home screen from his PackLink app. _New Private Pack request from: Derek Hale._

Stiles grins and accepts. There’s already a note from Derek waiting in the message feature. _Morning, baby. Don’t forget your buzzer today. Make sure you clean it first. See you in the office._

Honestly, just seeing the words, digital proof that he isn’t imagining this whole thing, is enough to make Stiles grin like an idiot. He messages back: _Yes, sir_. 

He puts the phone back on the dresser and stretches to feel that wonderful ache again. As he heads for the shower, the phone buzzes. _It’s Sir with a capital S, Stiles. Please don’t be so disrespectful again._

Stiles _thinks_ he’s joking. 

X 

The vibrator is tiny, but Stiles can feel it with every step he takes. He wriggles the whole drive to work, trying to figure out how to sit comfortably with it in. Maybe the whole point is that he can’t. Maybe Derek likes to imagine him unable to sit still, conscious every minute of what’s in there. 

When he gets to the office he focuses on his work, staring at his computer screen until he’s almost forgotten about the vibrator. Still, his thoughts slide to it every so often. He likes that idea that it’s there keeping him open, so Derek could thrust into him with only minimal prep on his part. 

“Hey, Stiles.” Lydia knocks on the wall of his cubicle. “You didn’t stay too late last night, did you?” 

“What? Oh, no. Not at all.” 

“I hope you didn’t. It’s important to get out and have some fun. Before your full-time offer comes along and the time for fun is gone.” She smiles at him and Stiles feels a rush of pleasure to know she’s expecting him to work here full-time. 

“I had plenty of fun last night,” he assures her. “No worries there.” 

“Great. Just wanted to stop by and say thanks again for all your hard work on the last project. Hope you’re enjoying yourself here.” 

Stiles opens his mouth to answer, then realizes: this thing in his ass could go off right now. While he’s talking to his _supervisor_. The thought affects him almost as much as it going off actually would, and he jumps a little before managing to squeak out, “I’m having a great time. Seriously. Thanks.” 

“Okay. Have a good one.” 

She leaves and Stiles tries to focus again, but it’s no good. Derek could make this thing go off at _any time_. Hell, he might not even make it go off _today_. He could leave Stiles waiting until five o’clock hits. 

He’s probably sitting in that office right now laughing to himself, imagining Stiles out here on pins and needles waiting. Well, screw that. Stiles will show him. He’s going to get so much work done today. When Derek reviews it, it’ll seem like Stiles wasn’t distracted a bit. 

He returned to his work with ferocity, spending the next few hours so engrossed he doesn’t have time to spare a thought for Derek. He imagines each project summary hitting Derek’s desk, the impressed look he wouldn’t be quite able to hide. This is good. This is _great_. His fingers are flying, mind racing, half out of his seat as he finishes a long string of code— 

The vibrator goes off. He hears himself squeak, stumbling backwards into his chair. This tiny thing is _powerful_. Hi toes curl in his shoes as it continues. 

He just has to get to Derek’s office before anyone notices. He stands, casually trying to organize his papers on his desk and lock his SmartCard. When he takes a step, his muscles clench, only intensifying the vibrations through his body. It ratchets up another speed, as if Derek is starting to get impatient. 

As he walks he keeps his head down, so nobody will be able to read his face. He almost takes a wrong turn and gets lost in Accounting, but he corrects just in time and finds his way to Derek’s door. He knocks and, after a pause, Derek’s unruffled voice calls: “Yes?” 

Oh, for crying out loud. He _knows_ it’s Stiles. Sure enough, the vibe ratchets up one more speed in the second before Stiles answers. 

“May I come in?” There’s no answer, and Stiles rolls his eyes, leaning in close to the door so he can hiss: “ _Sir?_ ” 

“Yes, you may.” 

Stiles shoulders the door open and steps inside. Derek is sitting at his desk, looking at his phone. As the door shuts behind him, the vibrator finally stops. “Two minutes and eighteen seconds,” Derek says. “A bit slow.” 

“I was trying to be inconspicuous.” 

“I hope I didn’t take you away from anything too important.” 

“I’ve actually already hit all my targets for the day, so… no worries.” 

Derek raises an eyebrow. “Impressive. Want a reward?” 

Stiles can’t hide his grin. “Yes, please.” 

“Are you sure you can handle it? You’re not too sore after yesterday?” 

“I am sore. But it’s not too bad. I…I like it.” 

Derek nods coolly. “Where are you sore?” 

“My…my thighs. And my ass.” 

“Should I kiss it better?” 

“Oh, God, yes. Sir.” 

“Are you hard right now?” Derek says it in the same cool, measured way he’s said everything else and Stiles feels himself flush. 

“Yes.” 

“Show me.” 

Stiles fumbles with his pants and pushes them down to his knees. His erection is straining against eh cotton of his boxers and he sees Derek move a little in his seat, adjusting his position in a way that makes him know it’s _on_. 

“Come over to my desk and bend over.” 

Stiles obeys. Derek stands and runs his hand down the length of Stiles’ back, pausing to squeeze at his ass. “How does it feel, having that in there?” 

“Good, Sir,” Stiles whispers. 

“Is it big enough for you?” 

“Big enough j-just for sitting around. But I need something bigger…if I really want to feel good.” 

“Good boy,” Derek murmurs. Stiles hears the _snick_ of a lube bottle opening, and then Derek’s coated fingers are reaching inside of him to work the vibe out. He goes slow, wriggling it torturously before it finally comes free. Stiles lets out a strangled moan. 

“My office is soundproofed,” Derek murmurs. “You can be as loud as you want.” 

“ _Thank you.”_ Stiles has a feeling he would forget to be quiet eventually. 

“But you _can’t_ come until I say so. Understand?” 

That kind of seems like a lousy caveat for something that’s supposed to be _his_ reward, but Stiles has a feeling it’s not up for negotiation. “Yes, Sir.” 

“Good.” Derek puts his hand on his back, pressing him into the desk. “Spread those legs. Nice and wide.” 

Stiles obeys. Derek drops to a crouch behind him, wrapping one hand around Stiles’ calf and curling the other around his hip. He starts to kiss the inside of Stiles’ thigh, working up until he reaches the crease. He seems to inhale deeply, as if he’s relishing his position, and then he kisses Stiles’ cock, sucking a little at the skin as if he’s trying to give him a lovebite _there_. Stiles can feel his hard, polished teeth, that hint of danger just behind the velvet of his lips. Derek kisses him a few more times before rising. “Turn,” he orders, and Stiles does. 

Derek bends him again until his legs give out and he’s lying backdown on the desk. Derek surveys him for a moment, eyes low and smoldering. He unbuttons his suit coat but otherwise stays fully dressed. “Hands up and clasped. Don’t move them, or I’ll have to take off my tie to restrain them.” 

Shakily, Stiles raises both hands high above his head and clasps them. Derek bends over him and just kind of nuzzles against his lower belly with his nose, kissing the base of his cock. He keeps Stiles pinned with his body as he starts to work his way up, kissing all the way to Stiles’ pecs. Stiles swears there’s a rumbling coming from his body, like a deeply contented animal. His legs are between Stiles’, keeping them wide, and Stiles can feel his cock pressed against Derek’s lower belly. It’ll leave a stain on his suit if he isn’t careful. 

Derek doesn’t seem to care about that. He just keeps up with the kissing, spending a small eternity on Stiles’ neck, definitely leaving a few new marks there before he reverses course. Stiles isn’t going to last very long if Derek keeps doing this, so _slowly_ , so _torturously_ , so _intimately_ … 

“Oh, my God,” he gasps. “Oh—no—” 

Immediately, Derek stops. “What? Stiles, what is it?” His voice is sharp with concern, hand hovering just above Stiles’ body as if he’s waiting to see if he needs to fix something. 

“What?” It takes Stiles a minute to internalize his own nonsense sounds and realize what he had just said. “Oh—I didn’t mean _no_ , I…that was a yes-no, Sir.” 

“A yes-no,” Derek repeats, sounding dubious. 

“Just that…it felt so good I was going to…to come if you kept it up.” Stiles blushes furiously, and fortunately, Derek snorts in amusement. 

“Let’s try and be as clear as possible going forward, please. Yes and no should keep their commonly understood meanings.” His hands come back down on Stiles’ shoulders, gently pinning him. “But thank you for warning me that you’re about to come. Don’t.” 

“Yes, sir.” Stiles closes his eyes. Derek doesn’t rush himself as he continues to cover Stiles’ upper body in those amazing sucking kisses, that rumbling sound starting up again. Finally one of his hands disappear and Stiles hears the sound of his zipper going down. 

“Up,” he murmurs, and Stiles rises, gripping Derek’s outstretched hand for help. He follows Derek’s direction until he’s standing against, hands braced on the desk, legs slightly bent. Derek fingers him open, generous applying lube as he goes. “Ready?” he murmurs. 

“Yes, sir.” Stiles throws his head back as Derek thrusts inside him. It feels even better than it did yesterday, now that he knows exactly how good it’s going to feel. Derek is a little lazier about it today, swiveling his hips more than snapping them. It’s just as good, in a different way. He likes to think that Derek is taking his time, enjoying himself, saving the moment like he must do with all the expensive things in his life… 

He hears himself make a long, drawn-out sound of pleasure, and the noise seems to spur Derek on. His movements become faster and rougher, one hand beginning to press Stiles down. His other hand finds Stiles’ cock and strokes, nice and firm. “You can come now,” he murmurs, and Stiles barely lets him get the words out. 

Moments later, Derek comes too, drawing an arm around Stiles’ waist so he can hold him still while it happens. Stiles swears he _snarles_ a little, his teeth snapping closed so close to Stiles’ ear he’s pretty sure it catches his hair. Stiles slumps in his arms, riding the high from both their orgasms. His body feel all zingy and electrified right now, but he can’t _wait_ to feel hwo sore this new workout is going to make him. 

Derek lets him enjoy it. He nuzzles Stiles' neck—that must be a thing with him—making that little rumbling sound again. “Good, baby?” he whispers. 

“Very good, Sir.” 

Derek kisses the side of his head. “Me, too.” 

Stiles smiles. He nuzzles a bit too, rubbing himself against Derek’s chest as if he wants to be even closer to him. He likes how contented Derek feels right now. It makes him wonder what it would be like to do this in an actual bed with him, to be able to fall asleep wrapped in his arms, two naked bodies slowly cooling down together… 

“Sorry, baby,” Derek murmurs, and Stiles is confused for a second, wondering if Derek is somehow seeing the same fantasy with him. “Can’t let you drift off. We need to go back to work.” 

Stiles makes a face. “Do we have to?” 

“Yes.” Derek kisses his shoulder. “We do.” 

Stiles turns so Derek can give him a real kiss. He winds his arms around Derek’s neck, trying to draw out the moment. Derek seems to have the same idea. His kiss is deep and he touches Stiles all while it lasts, drawing one finger over his cheekbone, brushing his thumb against his jaw, stroking the love bites on his collarbone. 

When they break apart, Derek is smiling. “We’re lucky your hair is always a mess,” he says, carding his fingers through it. “Or it would be a dead giveaway.” 

Stiles glances down at his naked body and winces. “I don’t think it’s really my hair we need to worry about.” 

Derek laughs. “There’s a private bathroom that adjoins my office. You can clean yourself up before you go.” He presses the vibe into his hands. “Take this with you and wash it. Don’t put it back in.” Stiles starts to protest and Derek hushes him. “You can’t wear it all the time, it isn’t safe. You can put it back in again tomorrow morning.” 

“But…what if you need me?” Stiles asks pathetically. 

“I’m sure my memories of you can keep me warm for a few hours,” Derek says drily. “If it’s an emergency, I’ll message you through PackLink.” He hides a smile at the look on Stiles’ face. “I’ve created a monster,” he murmurs. “Go back to work, baby. We’ll be doing this again, don’t you worry.” 

“Fine,” Stiles says, just a bit sulkily. He turns towards the bathroom, then stops. “What should I say to Lydia if she wonders where I was for so long?” 

“Don’t worry about it. I put an intern meeting on your calendar. It looks like you were in a meeting with one of the other department heads, learning all about the joys of state-by-state regulatory regimes.” 

Stiles is impressed. He really does think of everything. “What does it say you were doing on your calendar?” 

“I don’t have to answer to anyone, Stiles. I can keep my calendar blank whenever I want to.” 

Stiles pretends to fan himself and Derek unsuccessfully hides a smile. “Out,” he says, and Stiles scoots. 

X 

When the day ends, Stiles heads packs up his stuff and heads out. He feels a little sore and tired, but very satisfied. It was a good day’s work in every regard. 

He’d stayed a little late, just in case one more summonses came from Derek, and the office is mostly empty when he reaches the elevator. He steps in and presses the down button, unable to suppress a yawn. 

“Hold, please.” 

He looks up as Derek sticks his hand through the closing doors and steps in. “Mr. Stilinski,” he says politely. 

“Mr. Hale.” 

“You’re staying late.” 

“And you’re leaving early.” 

“I worked hard today. I earned it.” 

“Hey!” From down the hall, Stiles sees an executive waving. “Hold the door, please!” 

Derek reaches out and firmly presses the _Close Door_ button. The doors shut right in the man’s face. 

“Whoops,” Derek says blandly. 

“Wow.” Stiles shakes his head. “HR’s not going to like that.” 

“Good thing I have an otherwise spotless record.” One of Derek’s hands plants right on Stiles’ ass. “I have it on good authority I treat my employees pretty well.” 

Stiles glances at the elevator’s buttons. Damn these fancy elevators that can drop twenty-five floors in, like, ten seconds. “I liked that one perk today,” he says. “Getting to use your private bathroom. I saw there was a shower in there.” 

“Yes. Sometimes I come right to the office from the gym. It’s very helpful after a workout.” 

“I hope I get to shower in it someday. Looks like one of those fancy expensive ones, though. You might have to show me how to use it.” 

“Now there’s an idea. So nice to have innovative thinkers in the office.” Derek turns those smoldering eyes on him, just as the elevator beeps and the doors slide open to reveal the parking garage. 

“Are you getting out?” 

“No. My driver is waiting for me on the ground floor.” Derek grins at him. “Maybe if you’re good you’ll get to experience the backseat of my car too, one day. But for now, go home and rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He kisses Stiles, right there in front of the elevator’s open doors. Fortunately the parking garage appears to be deserted. 

Stiles steps out of the elevator and heads for his car. Just as he slides into the front seat his phone vibrates. He checks it to see a PackLink message from Derek. 

_Drive safe, please._

X 

When he reaches his apartment, Stiles messages Derek back. 

_Made it, Sir._

He doesn’t really expect a response, but he gets one. _Good boy. Don’t stay up to late. I have it on good authority you’ll be working hard tomorrow._

Stiles messages back: _Yikes. Good thing it’s Friday._

_You don’t want to work on the weekend? I expected more from you._

Stiles has to stare at the message for several moments before responding. _I thought the office was closed during the weekend._

Derek, too, takes a few moments before responding. _My apartment is open._

“Oh, holy _shit_ , yes,” Stiles says out loud. His fingers fumble at the keys. He has to correct a half dozen typos before he can finally send a response. _I would love to work from home with you, Sir._

Does that mean a sleepover? A night in Derek’s bed? That’s probably asking for too much. But Derek does seem to _like_ him. Like, really like him, not just as a warm body but as something more. Stiles shouldn’t rush things; he shouldn’t press. But Derek is the one suggesting Stiles spend the weekend with him… 

His phone buzzes. _Glad to hear it. We’ll discuss it more tomorrow. Have a good night, baby._

Stiles is so keyed up that he doesn’t bother trying to relax. He hits his apartment complex’s crappy gym for a workout, then showers, checking his phone all the while to see if there are any more messages from Derek. He makes himself dinner, less because he’s hungry and more because he has a feeling Derek expects him to be eating well, and finally goes to bed, resolving to get to the office early so he can maybe catch Derek on the elevator ride up. 

He’s just starting to drift off when his phone buzzes. He jumps to attention immediately, expecting another message from Derek, but it’s not him. It’s an update from PackLink. _Someone in your location has sent you a PackLink request._

Stiles clicks the link. He’s been invited to a location based pack—a pretty broad one, spanning three miles, though that only means the inviter is currently somewhere within that three-mile radius of him. The inviter hasn’t given the pack a name, which is kind of odd. It looks like Stiles is the only person who’s been invited. 

He clicks on the account of the person who’s invited him, trying to see if he recognizes her as another tenant in this building or one of his coworkers or something. The face and name don’t spark anything, so, after a moment, he shrugs and denies the request. 

No big deal. It was probably just a mistake or something. He’s forgotten about it almost as soon as his head hits the pillow. 

After all, he’s sure he’s never met anyone named Kate Argent.


End file.
